Astrophysicist For Rent
by BiteMeTechie
Summary: Samantha Carter and the words 'Formal Occasion' don't belong in the same sentence. Why? Because disaster is never far behind. [Sequel to Colonel For Sale]
1. Chapter 1

Tada. I give you the _long_ awaited sequel to 'Colonel For Sale'. Don't be a twit: read that before you read this. I _promise_ you won't regret it.

-

The universe has a way of playing tricks on the most unsuspecting of individuals. The powers that be seem to enjoy setting two different people on a direct collision course, while the galaxy at large sits back, relaxes and waits for the impending fireworks.

Samantha Carter was one such person. Strange things were _always_ happening to her. The whos, whats, wheres and _whys_ didn't matter...the _outcome_ however, _did_.

For example, if you had pulled her aside just six months earlier and told her that within the year she'd go on a _date_ with Rodney McKay, she would have looked at you like you were around the bend.

If you were to tell her that she would be considering a _second_ date with the man in question in that same length of time--even looking _forward_ to it--she would have had you committed to the nearest psychiatric facility where you could be watched closely by trained professionals in case whatever disease had eaten your frontal lobe was contagious.

However, regardless of how she might have felt a year or so earlier about Rodney McKay, things had changed--facts had shifted before her eyes--and her perceptions were forever altered.

It was a result of those changes in perception that she found herself pondering over the invitation to the latest Presidential Inauguration Ball and who she could get to escort her.

Somewhat disturbing that she found her mind leaping immediately to Rodney McKay.

Of course, she _could_ have gone with General O'Neill, she supposed...if he hadn't already found some nubile young thing to drag into the White House on his arm.

It was probably wrong of her to consider using McKay as a tool to make O'Neill jealous...but to be perfectly frank, she didn't realize that's what she was doing until she was already _on_ the phone with Rodney. She assumed her reasoning was perfectly sound--after all, they were _friends_--there was nothing wrong with going to a ball with a _friend._..

But when she heard McKay's voice over the line and she found all she could think of was the look on O'Neill's face when she entered on Rodney's arm, she realized with shame that she was planning to exploit her friendship with the other physicist.

She hung up immediately without saying a word.

So of course, the bastard _had_ to use star sixty-nine and call her back.

She glared at the telephone as it rang repeatedly, waiting for it to stop trying to shake itself off its hook.

Which it did...

But only for a few minutes before it started ringing _again_.

Rodney McKay was _nothing_ if not persistent.

With all the resignation of a man on his way to the electric chair, Sam snapped up the receiver and put it to her ear. "Hello?"

"Sam?"

She grimaced, scrunching up her face in a _most_ unattractive manner.

She was an Air Force Colonel for crying out loud...and here she was acting like some moronic teenage girl, playing all the ridiculous little games that were _supposed_ to be reserved for the more 'feminine' members of her sex.

"Hi, Rodney," she replied, irritated that her voice came out somewhat breathlessly as a result of her agitation.

Oh God, she hoped he didn't get the wrong impression.

He cleared his throat awkwardly after a moment. "Um...you called?"

Sam smiled against her will, hearing the note of uncertainty in his voice. The man wasn't without his redeeming qualities...his vulnerability in this situation fell squarely into that category, in her opinion. So egotistical on the outside--such a hapless puppy cowering just waiting to be kicked on the _inside_.

It was almost endearing.

It _wasn't_, but it came uncomfortably close.

"Sam? Sam, are you there?"

She shook herself, realizing that she'd just internally compared Rodney McKay to a _puppy_, and wondered briefly if she had a fever. "I'm...fine, Rodney."

Sam didn't even sound convincing to her own ears...there was no _way_ she sounded convincing to _his_.

Rather than giving him the opportunity to inquire further and make things even _more_ awkward (she didn't know _how_ it could be more awkward, but with her luck, fate would find a way to outdo itself), she pressed onwards.

"Yeah...I called to ask you something, Rodney."

"Oh. Um...what? Do you need notes? Or--or a--"

"I wanted to ask if you'd--" she winced. "If you'd agree to be my escort to President Nelson's inauguration?"

There was a thud from the other end of the line, followed by silence.

_Did he faint_?

"Rodney?"

More silence.

Well, that was better than another thud, at any rate.

"Rodney!"

There was a sickly noise, somewhat like an inarticulate gurgle (not that any gurgles are particularly articulate _anyway_), and a loud sound of someone swallowing thickly.

"Did you...are you asking me _out_?"

"Yes. I mean...no...I just figured since you're on Earth, and _I'm_ on Earth and I have this invitation--"

_Please tell me I don't sound a stupid as I think I do._

"Oh...well, huh." He sounded genuinely puzzled. "Sam, I uh...I wish I _could_ but--"

"Busy?" Most of her was relieved but part of her was disappointed.

She ignored that particular part rather effectively.

"Well, not _busy_ precisely, but I just...I don't know, Sam."

She spoke before she realized she had time to _think_ about making the offer she was making. "I could pay you."

Sam's eyes went wide and she tore the phone away from her ear, thumping her forehead with it.

_Idiot!_

She recovered quickly and put the phone back where it belonged, clearing her throat. "I mean, Rodney, I feel so bad that you spent so much on me at that Bachelorette auction...I...wanted to pay you back."

"Most people just write I.O.U.s" he said with an air of sarcasm that made her think he was rolling his eyes at that particular point in time.

"I'm not most people."

There. That was relatively clever.

"No," he replied honestly, "You are most decidedly _not_ most people. Part of why I...um...well, you know."

Sam smirked. "Is that a yes?"

He sighed dramatically as if this were all _very_ trying and dreadfully dull. "Well, if you insist on appealing to my better side--"

"Your greedy side?"

"Hey now, do you want me there or not?"

"_Always,_ Rodney," she answered, pouring on that thick layer of flirtatiousness that she so rarely got to use. It was almost _fun_ to be playful with _him_, knowing full well that it wouldn't go any further than simple friendship.

"Alright, I'll be there." He let out another breath, still acting like the put upon professional escort. "Where's _there_ again? And _when_?"

"Two weeks from now and Washington D.C., naturally."

"Fine."

"Don't worry, Rodney, I'll make it worth your while."

His attitude changed within seconds and she heard the lasciviousness creep back into his tone. "Yeah, you better be wearing something revealing and do a _lot_ of leaning over."

Sam promptly hung up on him.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam Carter didn't like to shop. That was one of the many ways that she differed from the other members of her sex.

Shopping was not a leisure activity, it was a necessity and nothing more. Especially when she had to shop _alone_.

With surgeon-like precision she could make her way through any store in the country, shopping at such a speed that the sales clerks barely had time to register that she was there.

And she _liked_ it that way. She was _used_ to it being that way. She shopped for what she needed when she needed it, cutting out all the excess fripperies that usually accompanied the activity (like 'debating' what color looked best on her or what cut was the most flattering), and she liked that she had the ability to go into a store and retrieve what she wanted with a minimum of fuss.

So it only followed that to be caught in her current position, staring at a rack of ball gowns in varying shades with a look of absolute muddled defeat, she was quite out of her element.

Did she look better in green or in blue? Was a plunging neckline all wrong? Was baring her shoulders too much? She didn't want to give Rodney the wrong impression...

Cater blinked, yanked out of her thoughts by the undoubtedly teenage whine that had just broken her concentration. "Mom! I know I said I don't want to look like a nun, but I don't want to give him the wrong idea either!"

Two aisles away, a rather gangly, nerdy teenage girl was arguing heatedly with her mother. The aforementioned mother was the anti-thesis of her child, bleached blonde, buxom and perfectly dressed, while the girl was thin, awkward and wore glasses so large they made her look like some sort of bug.

'Mom' was holding up a garish aquamarine blue ensemble that had a neckline that was far too daring and Sam found herself sympathizing with the girl wholeheartedly.

"But it's the latest style, dear!" The mother waved the dress in what she must have thought was an attractive fashion, accomplishing nothing more than showing just how many sparkles and dangly bits it had, adding to the blindingly obvious fact that it was _hideous_. It was far too short, far too low cut and the color could have conceivably put someone's eye out.

The girl goggled at the dress before turning to grab an emerald green one off the rack. "_This_ is what I want, mom."

Sam stood in stunned fascination. The girl had _excellent_ taste...

How was it she'd managed to overlook that one herself? It was perfect!

Or maybe that was desperation making itself known inside her...she _had_ been shopping for over six _hours_. At this point a bed sheet in the right color tied with a drapery pull would have been incredibly attractive.

Men had it so easy. A penguin suit and all of the sudden they were ready for a party...

Women, on the other hand, had a myriad of choices--fabric, color, style, size, shoes, accessories...jewelry, undergarments---(Not that Rodney would ever clap eyes on _those_, but her point still stood!).

It was enough to make _anyone's_ head spin.

The girl and her mother were still arguing over their respective dress choices, and Sam's head was starting to ache.

Why couldn't she just wear her dress uniform? That would have been nice enough, wouldn't it?

Oh, but God forbid she got to be _comfortable_ while spinning around a dance floor enough times to make her vomit. No, the pumps she'd have to wear weren't enough torture, society dictated that she had to wear a ball gown.

She was getting more and more annoyed with every passing minute until finally, she spun to stare at the rack of dresses in her size.

She shut her eyes, swore to herself that whatever she picked out would be what she'd wear, regardless of what she thought of it. If she didn't get out of her PDQ, she was going to lose her marbles for certain.

So, she did just that. Reaching out and grabbing the first thing her fingers came in contact with, she tucked the offending garment under her arm without even looking at it. At that point, Sam didn't care _what_ she wore, just so long as she was wearing _something_.

She paid for the dress (Seven hundred dollars? Those thieves!), averting her eyes from her purchase the entire time she was swiping her credit card. She replied to the sale's clerk with a curt "Thank you" and left as quickly as she could manage without breaking into a run.

Sam just wanted to go home...she wanted to go work on something with complicated mathematical equations...just to forget that she'd ever heard the word "Chanel".

Hopefully, when the day of the ball came around, she'd find that her purchase wasn't _too_ hideous on her...because she certainly wasn't going to look at it until the last minute. If she did, she'd second guess herself, and she couldn't afford to do that.

No, this was the sudden death dress. She would stuff it in the closet in its opaque garment bag and forget about it until the day Rodney was going to pick her up. He wouldn't care what she was wearing either...he would be too pleased to have her as his escort (or was it the other way around?) to make mention of silly things like cut, color and fabric.

For that, Sam was immensely grateful. It was nice to know, on some level, that he was interested in her company and not just her looks. She appreciated that.

Although that wouldn't stop her from decking him if he tried anything.


	3. Chapter 3

Dread wasn't a strong enough word to describe the emotions that were rolling around in Sam's stomach on the night of the inauguration ball. The days leading up to now had been torturous, but she was fast discovering that was _nothing_ in comparison to what she was going through at that point in time.

Whether her apprehension was so great due to the fact the dress she'd selected was just about everything she _didn't_ want (low cut, off the shoulders, cut low in the back and aquamarine) or because her date would be arriving and would most likely shatter his jaw on the floor when he caught sight of her, nobody could say.

Either way, she didn't like the butterflies currently doing the watusi inside her ribcage.

The hotel room whose floor she was wearing a track in the floor of was rather a nice one in Washington DC, where she'd arrived not too long ago, and though under ordinary circumstances, she'd enjoy staying somewhere more posh than the on base quarters at the SGC, her anxiety was such that she couldn't seem to focus on anything other than the mounting tension coiling in her gut.

Funny that this exact same thing had happened the _last_ time she'd had to go on a date with Rodney McKay, when ordinarily she was the calm, cool, collected, unshakable type.

Maybe it was just the fact that she didn't like formal occasions much...sure...that would explain it. She hadn't liked her prom (not that she actually bothered to _go_ or anything) because of the whole formality of the situation...

She was just more comfortable in her uniform than in a _dress_ and--

The door was knocked on, the old 'Shave and a haircut' shtick, and all the butterflies inside Sam suffered a mass heart attack, dropping all at once to hit the floor of her stomach with a thud that was very nearly audible.

_Well, this is it. Moment of truth and suchlike._

She stalked to the hotel door and flung it open.

Rodney stood there, his hands clasping the lapels of his _very_ nice tuxedo, with a smile so broad on his face Sam wondered if his head could split apart as a result.

He might have _looked_ smug, but the color of white that his knuckles were revealed his _true_ feelings. Clearly he was just as agitated as _she_ was.

His smile faded the second his eyes landed on her and he blinked like a man who'd just suffered a blow to the head.

"Rodney," Sam said warningly, not liking the way his eyes were wandering down the front of her dress with lecherous intent. "Rodney!"

He snapped out of it. "Huh what?"

She crossed her arms disapprovingly, realized that made the cleavage problem worse and corrected her mistake in moments.

He cleared his throat and shook his head as though he was trying to clear it of whatever amorous cobwebs had taken up residence over the past few seconds. "You look _sensational_," he said genuinely.

Compliments were his way or making amends? Huh.

He offered his arm gallantly, and she took it, picking up her purse on their way out.

"You really _do_ look great, Sam," he said awkwardly.

"Thanks, Rodney."

"You're welcome."

"And Rodney?" She said as she closed the hotel door behind them.

"Yeah?"

"If your eyes move any further down my dress, I'm likely to slap them right out of your head."


	4. Chapter 4

Sam had never been to an inauguration ball before, so naturally, she didn't know what to expect. Maybe she'd thought of it in the childhood sense of the word 'ball'--the place where Cinderella met and subsequently spent the night dancing with her Prince Charming.

But the presidential ball was nothing like Cinderella's, and Rodney was _far_ from being Prince Charming.

Sure, he cut a more impressive figure these days…he wasn't quite as squashy as he had been when he first left Earth…

And his personality had improved.

So he wasn't Quasimodo; that still didn't make him _Prince Charming._

Still, he made an engaging enough companion through the excitement of the evening as bands played and celebrities spoke about superficial issues in comparison to the SGC and soon enough the evening was winding down into the part where everyone was expected to _dance_.

This was the only part of the night's activities that fit the stereotypical images that come to mind when the word 'ball' comes up and Sam allowed him to lead her on the floor.

He only stepped on her foot twice--sadly the same foot in the _same exact spot_--and apologized profusely each time, but she shrugged it off and continued the perfunctory dance steps carelessly. Where her dance partner seemed to anxiously sweat out each of his moves for her benefit, she moved effortlessly mostly because she didn't really _care_.

Now while Rodney only had eyes for his date (poor, deluded fool); she was busy scanning the floor for General O'Neill and telling herself time and again that she _was not looking for him_.

Even though she was.

Denial is funny that way.

It took several waltzes, but finally she spotted him, across the room…

And oh, didn't he look cozy with the little brunette he'd brought with him? Cozier than she'd seen him with anyone recently, actually…

And it most definitely wasn't disheartening in the least!

Pain exploded in her left foot yet _again_. "Ouch!"

"Sorry. Sorry!" Rodney squeaked worriedly. "I didn't break anything, did I?"

"Not _this time_."

He turned a little bit paler. "Did I break anything _before_?"

"No, Rodney, I just--"

O'Neill was out on the floor with his date and happiness seemed to ooze off him.

It was a disgustingly sunny display on his part.

And that _woman_ looked like an idiot grinning like that. As if she had any business on the arm of General Jack O'Neill.

And Sam was not jealous!

Ugh!

Appalled at her own train of thought Sam turned her attention back to Rodney, who was doing his utmost to keep counting steps.

Poor, sweet Rodney, whom she'd dragged into this mess under false pretenses.

Poor, sweet Rodney? What the _hell_? Poor Rodney took _enough_ getting used to--but poor, **sweet** Rodney?

Okay, who spiked the punch?

But then she looked at him again and felt like an idiot. Of course he was…sweet…enough.

Sweeter than, oh say, a lemon for example.

Or maybe that was a _bad_ example, given his allergy to citrus.

"You're a much better dancer than I am, Sam," he said suddenly, yanking her out of her thoughts.

He had a nasty habit of doing that…she'd have to break him of it.

"You're not _that_ bad, Rod--ow."

Fourth time's the charm, they say. Surely there was a hole in her shoe by now as many times as he'd trodden on it…

"Sorry. _Again._"

"Don't worry about it, Rodney," Sam answered dismissively as she glanced over his shoulder and saw something that made her eyes go wide momentarily.

O'Neill was watching her curiously, the petite brunette still clinging to his arm like an octopus.

What possessed her then, she didn't know for certain, but she suspected that whatever it was had bright green eyes and sometimes went by the name envy when 'jealousy' was too common a word.

She grabbed Rodney's head and kissed him full on the mouth. It wasn't anything spectacular; just a quick, unskilled mashing of lips--more like kissing a brother than anything else…

But it had the desired effect. Jack's jaw had dropped at _least_ an inch.

And Rodney's had dropped at least _twice_ that. "W-w-what was _that_ for?"

"I…to say thanks. For being my escort."

"Even after I stepped on your feet three times?"

"Four."

"Even after I stepped on your feet four times?"

"Yes, even then, Rodney." She smiled at him and dealt the killing blow that she knew _had_ to be made to keep his head from getting so big he floated away with it. "You're a true…friend."

His face didn't lose its genuine glimmer of joy the way she had expected it to and he affectionately pecked her on the cheek, stunning her further.

"I'm glad."

She eyed him warily, bringing one hand up to cup her own face where he'd just…_kissed her_. And **chastely** at that!

"Who are you and what have you done with Rodney McKay?"

"What? Wasn't that the proper response to a declaration of friendship?" One of his eyebrows lifted. "Or are we the kind of friends who ravage each other in public during social functions?"

Sam swatted him in the chest, but he didn't seem to mind.

"Just checking."


	5. Chapter 5

Once they were back at the hotel, it seemed like nothing could bring Rodney down from his euphoric high, no matter how many times Sam tried to explain that it had been a mistake.

An _accident_.

She thought that on some level, he must've understood that, surely he must have--but he just glowed so horribly bright as he escorted her through the hotel lobby, it made her heart ache with regret.

She led him on.

She shouldn't have.

He was so _happy_.

God, she was going to hell for this. No limbo, no purgatory, no lines, no waiting--just straight to hell.

_Still_, the smallest, most ignorable part of her whispered, _it's nice for someone to have eyes for me...and only me._

She couldn't help but suspect that maybe he expected more from her. Sure, he was all jokes and smiles, but something about all his jokes seemed a little bit too close to the truth. As though he couldn't say it in a serious way--but needed to get it out in the open none-the-less--so he opted for the 'I'll pretend I'm joking" route.

She couldn't avoid the minor amount of frustration with the male of the species at large for their inability to deal with emotions openly and earnestly that surged up inside her, but she did her best to ignore it.

Sure, it was frustrating, but the last thing she wanted was to make things worse by forcing him to confront his feelings. She did **not** need Rodney McKay on bended knee, proclaiming his hopeless, unrequited and undying love for her…

Even though she knew how absurd that particular mental image was, she _still_ didn't want to hurt him.

She was starting to wish she'd never called him. All she did was complicate what should have been a simple cut and dried scenario.

If she had entered this with pure intentions, and not those that revolved around jealousy and intrigues, maybe she wouldn't feel like such a piece of crap; but as it was, she just felt like a master manipulator who'd gotten away with the biggest, most elaborate scheme in their career completely scot-free.

The trouble was, her conscience _wanted_ her to get caught. Sam _hated_ the way things had turned out.

He was happy; she was miserable; Jack was under the mistaken impression that she was 'with' McKay and not just in attendance with him…

And it was _all_ her own fault.

Boy, it was times like this when "Honesty is the best policy" really proved itself to be true. This is why she never did the whole dating thing all that well…the deception that comes along with it was never something she was particularly good at.

Of course, dwelling on it wasn't going to do her any good. Rodney was escorting her regally across the hotel lobby, pulling all of her attention and focus towards the glaring problem that she herself had created.

"Rodney, you don't _have_ to take me up to my room."

He grinned at her guilelessly as they approached the elevator and he reached out to press the button. "What sort of escort would I be if I didn't see you safely to your door?"

She sighed, trying to fight off the defeat that she felt coming. "Rodney, it's a four star hotel, not a dark alleyway. I can manage on my own. You don't have t--"

"But I want to."

_I'll just __**bet**__ you do…_

Ding!

The elevator doors slipped to either side of the car and Rodney gestured grandly. "After you."

She tried to extract her arm from Rodney's grip without him noticing, but he seemed…rather reluctant to release her…and she didn't want to make a scene.

After all, he was only trying to see her to her room. Her guilt was what was making her uncomfortable--so she couldn't very well haul off and hit him without making herself feel _worse_. So she reluctantly took the two necessary steps forward into the elevator, Rodney hot on her heels.

"Eighth floor, right?" He asked, fingers skimming over the little light up buttons.

"Yeah." She made a conscious effort to look everywhere but at him as the doors slid shut in front of her face.

Rodney let her arm go and clasped his hands behind his back, bouncing on the balls of his feet a little and the silence stretched to an uncomfortable length as they traveled up the first four floors without stopping.

The hush was almost deafening, pressing in on her from all sides and she had to force down the urge to fidget.

She cleared her throat, venturing to shatter the emptiness of the elevator.

"I had a nice time," Sam said lamely, knowing _just_ how stupid and juvenile it must've sounded.

"So did I," he replied brightly. "How could I not enjoy entering a society function with the loveliest woman in the room on my arm?"

"Don't push it, Rodney. We've already established that we're _friends_ and nothing more...false flattery won't get you anywhere."

"Who said anything about false? Or flattery, for that matter? I was just stating a fact. I mean, did you _see_ some of the women at that ball? I had to forcefully keep myself from suggesting they go to the groomer's more often."

Sam bristled. "So I was the prettiest in comparison to the rest of the kennel?"

He glared at her in response. "That isn't what I meant and you know it. Can't you just take an _honest_ compliment from me?"

Sam's shoulders sagged marginally. She hadn't meant to snap at him…she just felt…

She felt…

She felt the elevator suddenly jerk, that's what she felt.

It jerked so violently that she grabbed onto Rodney's sleeve to steady herself. After all, high heels were hardly the best for surviving an abrupt jolt while remaining upright.

Sam glanced up at the floor indicator at the top of the elevator and found it fixed between the numbers seven and eight.

She felt it as her heart tried to sink to her shoes with realization.

They were _stuck_.

Just _dandy._


	6. Chapter 6

I've put up with it long enough, I've been getting a myriad of nasty notes lately so it's time to rant. Briefly.

I never labled this as Sam/Jack. Hell, I never labled it as _romance_. It's _humor_ and** parody**. Jesus H. Christ on a fucking rubber crutch, you people. If you read a.) Colonel For Sale, b.)this far in the story and c.)the actual story category classifications (Humor! Parody! LOOK THEM UP!) you should realize this is _not_ Sam/Jack. I'm assuming you're brighter than a twenty five watt light bulb here, and I am sick to death of having to spell things out in response to badly spelled and badly worded PMs when all the clues are STARING AT YOU. Either buy a clue or go see the wizard and get yourself a brain, 'cause I am _done explaining_.

And this is why my dreams of a teaching career fell apart.

-

With her feet aching and her disposition growing more and more sour as the moments passed, Sam stared at Rodney from her vantage point on the floor as he shouted at the operator on the other end of the emergency telephone. There was a good probability that whoever was unfortunate enough to bear the full brunt of Rodney's wrath had been reduced to tears, but Sam was having a hard time conjuring any sympathy for the other party.

After all, if there hadn't been an electric malfunction, she wouldn't be _stuck_ here with him. Sympathy for those responsible was in _very_ short supply…as was patience.

Hell, if she'd been in any mood for it, she would have yanked off the control panel and set to work herself; but sadly she hadn't brought a screwdriver with her…and even if she _had_ thought to bring one, it wouldn't have fit in that stupid little clutch purse _anyway_.

She barely registered the BANG that the receiver made when Rodney angrily slammed it down and started to pace in front of the doors of the elevator, muttering to himself about the incompetence of human beings in general--especially those in management.

"Well?"

He spun to face her, looking _very_ angry before he seemed to realize who he was trapped with and some of the ferocity in his expression drained away.

"Electrical glitch," he said, throwing in a few choice comparisons between the elevator's designer and a baboon in a mutter. "The winch control is 'out of whack'. Which is an oh-so-very technical term courtesy of the dimwitted switchboard operator."

Sam shut her eyes and steeled her nerves as best she could. "How long will it take them to fix it?"

Rodney sneered. "She didn't _know_. 'Could be a few minutes, could be a few hours, you know how finicky electricity can be'. I wanted to throttle her."

"I could tell," Sam deadpanned from the floor, garnering an irritated look from McKay.

"You know what _I_ don't understand? If all the electricity is _gone_ from the elevators, why are we still being treated to the sounds of Barry Manilow?" Rodney pointed at the speaker above Sam's head angrily. "If I have to be stuck somewhere small and suffocating with background music, the least they could do is make it _good_ background music."

"Why don't you call in a request if you hate it so much, Rodney?" She snapped in response. "You think I'm happy about being stuck in here? This is the acid covered cherry on top of the sundae that has been a very bad day!"

Rodney looked hurt. "I wasn't aware you hated my company so much, pardon me for breathing!"

"Just…shut up, Rodney. Shut up!"

"Hey, you're the one who asked me to take you to the ball; you're the one who--"

"I didn't want to go with you in the first place!"

Sam realized her error half a second too late when genuine _pain_ flickered in Rodney's eyes. "Oh. Oh, I see."

"Rodney, I…I didn't mean--"

He cleared his throat and turned aside, so he wasn't facing her full on. "No, no. I get it. For the first time, I think I get it. God I'm an idiot!"

"Rodney, I'm…sorry."

"There's no need to apologize," he flipped one of his hands dismissively, still not looking at her. "Let's face it, nobody would want me to take them anywhere unless I was their last option, right? Why should you be any different?"

Sam looked at her hands, folded primly in her lap. "I--"

"Spare me, Sam. Just…don't _bother_."

"Damn it, Rodney!" Sam exclaimed, climbing up from her place on the floor and grabbing him by the shoulder, _forcing_ him to look at her. "Don't you dare try and shut me out. It won't _work_!"

He locked eyes with her, making her feel much smaller than she had a few moments earlier. "Why not? It works on everyone _else_. 'Doctor McKay is an caustic, disagreeable man who likes his space, I'll leave him alone'. Take the hint, Sam. Join the throng of people with that opinion and save yourself some grief. Hell, save _me_ the grief."

"You? Save _you_ the grief?"

"Yes, _me_," he swatted her hand away. "You don't _get_ it, do you? You're like…like…some kind of disease, Sam. And I've got a bad case of you, too. I know we'll never be anything but 'friends'--though after tonight I doubt we'll even be _that_ anymore--but that…that doesn't take away any of the…never mind. It's not important. Forget I said anything. Let's just go back to the way things were. You hate me, I hate you, okay? It's a lot easier that way."

For a second Sam was tempted to take his offer…to go back to the way things had been before that relationship altering 'date', but her more noble side won out.

"I don't hate you, Rodney…and I don't think I ever could, not…not _really_." At his look of shock, she continued. "Don't get me wrong, you drive me nuts, yeah, I admit that you know all the wrong buttons to push when you want to…but I do care about you."

He snorted.

"I do!" She defended.

"Sure, and pigs have wings."

"If they're genetically altered, they do."

His eyes softened and his upper lip twitched as he fought down a smile. "That wasn't fair. You're making it impossible for me to stay mad at you."

"Well, let me put you over the top," she said, wrapping her arms around him briefly and squeezing him in a friendly hug. "There. Any last shreds of anger?"

"Damn it. _No._" He mock glared at her. "You women and your feminine wiles…makes it impossible for a guy to think straight."

"Nice to know I've got that effect on _somebody_," she replied, half between amusement and annoyance.

"You've got that effect on _everybody_," he answered smartly. "Give me your hand."

"What?" She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. "_Why_?"

"Can't you hear?" He pointed at the speaker again. "Sinatra. Come on, Sam. It's the last dance."

He held out his hand to her in invitation and she eyed him warily.

"Rodney, I'm _tired_--"

"And your feet hurt, I _know_. Take off your shoes."

"Rodney," she said with every intention of shooting him down as best she could manage in her worn out state.

"We're stuck. There's nobody here," he said reasonably, still insistently holding his hand out. "Please? Think of it as a symbol of the truce we've just declared, huh?"

The impression of a lost puppy he was giving was so accurate that Sam was tempted to ask if he wanted a Milkbone, but she relented and gave him her hand, if only to have an excuse to step out of the ridiculous heels she was wearing.

He was quite a bit more graceful without anyone else around, Sam noticed, and he didn't step on her feet once as they moved just a few steps around the small space of the elevator.

"It's a shame you didn't dance this well when everyone else was watching."

"Blame it on performance anxiety," he said. "And you made me lose count. One two three, one two three, one two--"

She smiled at him against her will. "You're an astrophysicist and you can't keep count for a waltz?"

"Sure I can. We're waltzing, aren't we?"

"That we are. And rather well, at that."

"That's nothing, I can also chew gum and walk at the same time."

"My, how impressive."

"I know, isn't it?" He spun her as well as the small space would allow and then tugged her back towards him, a little closer than she had been before. "It's a shame, you know?"

"Hm?"

"We're both in love with people who'll never really love us back."

Sam froze in place. "I'm not in--"

He paused as well and gazed at her knowingly. "Yes you are…and so am I." He shrugged and began the waltz again. "But, such is life."

She allowed him to lead her, looking at him strangely. "How do you do that?"

He grinned at her. "What? Dance on air?"

"No, how do you…_know_?"

"It's plain as the nose on your face, Sam," he said, bitterness lacing his voice. "You look at…at General O'Neil the way I suspect I look at you."

The elevator jerked back to life suddenly and Sam was thankful for the excuse to step out of Rodney's embrace.

She pulled back from him, mildly uncomfortable, not only due to the fact he had pegged her so accurately, but because of his half-confession about his feelings for her. "You've had your last dance."

The elevator doors swished open and she stepped out, but not before he caught her hand briefly, only releasing it as the doors started to close. She could have _sworn_ his eyes were sparkling. "Save me the first dance in your dreams, huh?"


	7. Chapter 7

There are very few things that human beings like less than introspection and self examination. There is nothing so ugly as coming face to face with things that you don't _want_ to think about, much less come to terms with.

Hence why many people avoid it altogether, speeding through life without slowing down long enough to take a look in the mirror for fear that they find something they don't like staring back at them.

Samantha wasn't given the opportunity to do that though. Rodney McKay had yanked the rug right out from under her feet and left her sprawling, groping for some sense of normalcy in the insanity that had suddenly clouded her universe.

He said something about the way she looked at General O'Neill…

Was it really that obvious? Was it so obvious to everyone but her?

Had she blinded herself so much to her own emotions that she was the last person to know she was…

She was…

Damn it, she was an adult, she could say that she…_cared_ about Jack O'Neill.

Apparently she wasn't grown up enough to admit she _loved_ him, but damn it, she was mature enough to say she cared!

Of course, she cared about Rodney too…but he cared about _her_ in return…and she didn't know if Jack felt anything for her more than, what, friendship?

And God she was confused.

And staring at the hotel room ceiling certainly wasn't helping matters at all.

How long she'd been lying on her bed just staring without seeing, she didn't know, but the events of the evening just kept replaying in her head again and again so much so that she was getting _sick_ of it. She hadn't even bothered to slither out of the ridiculous dress she was wearing, she was so consumed by her thoughts.

She'd asked Rodney to be her escort, she'd kissed him in hopes of making Jack O'Neill jealous, and even through their argument in the elevator, Rodney forgave her all her trespasses against him.

He saw through every one of the ruses she thought was so clever and poked at the part of herself that she _thought_ was covered under the thickest of armors.

Sam sat up so suddenly that her back made a cracking noise that was not indicative of her continued chiropractic health.

Rodney had seen through her as though she were made of freshly Windexed glass…

He really knew her.

He really _loved_ her.

And she…well, she did like him…sort of…

Maybe more than sort of, now that she'd gotten to know him better…maybe, just _maybe_…

No, that was stupid. She was in---no, she _cared_ about Jack O'Neill. Not Rodney McKay. Yes.

She'd cared about Jack longer than she'd even _known_ Rodney; it was impossible to suddenly out-of-the-blue feel something for Rodney, right? You don't just stop loving one person when another one comes along…

Even if that other one tends to disarm you and surprise you continuously by proving he's…compassionate and somewhat sweet and understanding and…

Dear God.

Realization slammed into Sam so hard she felt dizzy with the strength of it.

She scrambled off the bed and darted for the telephone, which she picked up and stared at for several seconds.

No. This wasn't the kind of thing you did over the phone…that wouldn't do.

Besides, she might come to her senses and hang up on him before she said what she'd finally _grasped._

But he _was_ staying in the same hotel, wasn't he?

She picked up the phone again, inquired what room Rodney McKay was staying in and then declined the operator's offer to connect her to said room.

This had to be done in person.

She rushed to slip her shoes on and hoped she wouldn't manage to fall on her mad dash down two flights of stairs (like she was going to take the elevator again? Please.) before she came to a screeching halt in front of his door.

Sam didn't even give herself the chance to second guess what she was doing as she pounded furiously on his door.

If she second guessed or thought about it, she might lose her nerve, turn tail and run…and she couldn't have that.

"Rodney!" She continued banging on the door. "RODNEY!"

The door was flung open and a disheveled Rodney McKay greeted her in pajamas and a hastily tied bathrobe. For a split second he looked like he was going to start shouting at her for trying to bust his door down at this ungodly hour but then the gears in his head seemed to grind to a stop when he realized _who_ was beating on his door.

"Sam? What're you do--"

"You were wrong," she said, cutting him off.

"Wrong?" He muttered from around a yawn. "About _what_?"

"Jack."

Rodney blinked dumbly at her. "_Huh?_"

She launched herself at him, arms around his neck and he sputtered, trying to pry her off.

"What're you--Sam, have you been at the mini-bar? What's the matter with you? If somebody slipped something into one of your drinks tonight, maybe you should go see a docto--"

She put her hands on either side of his head and forced him to look at her. "I hate to be cliché, but Rodney?"

He looked at her, still horribly, but adorably puzzled. "What?"

"Shut up and kiss me."

-

A/N: It should be noted that I feel like a total sell-out…but since there was no way to end this fic without me feeling like a sell-out in _some_ capacity (I could have gone Sam/Rodney or Sam/Jack at the end here), I felt I might as well end things the way I wanted to. And really, between someone who ignores you and how you feel about them and someone who worships the ground you walk on...who would _you_ pick? (Never mind the fact I've been a Sam/Jack shipper since SG-1 premiered, I let my fics take me where they want to...and Rodney is an awfully pushy fellow to work with.)

So, now that it's over, I've got my fireproof jammies on. Let the flaming begin.


End file.
